Lost
Cal cringed as the manacles clinked against the stone wall
of his cell, pausing a second to make sure no one had noticed. Most likely the
other prisoners were too far gone with fatigue and malnutrition to notice a
little extra noise, and the guard lying on the floor of his cell was truly
unconscious. Cal bent down and checked to make sure the man was still
breathing.
He was but, though this was good, it wouldn’t save him from
the punishment coming his way. When the authorities discovered that the unlucky
guard had let the prisoners escape, he would likely be beheaded, or at least
put in the stocks.
Cal stooped to search the guard’s pockets. He didn’t find
much, but he did take the man’s sword and dagger. His own superior weapons had
been confiscated, of course, when King Wolfric had found him dragging the captive,
Princess Bethany Kavadh, from the burning wreckage of the weapons depot.
Princess Bethany was the daughter of Wolfric’s enemy, the
last king to stand against him on the enormous peninsula. She had come to Wolfric’s
household as a slave after being captured during an ambush by slavers on her
caravan. After many months of slavery her true identity had been discovered and,
up until a few hours ago, she had been engaged to the heir apparent, Prince
Féderic, in a scheme to bring down the Kavadh family from within.
But the rebellious woman, who couldn’t appreciate what fate
had brought her, had ruined it all, and taken Cal down with her. She had set
the weapons depot on fire and was stupid enough to stay and watch her work.
Wolfric and Féderic had arrived at the scene of the crime just as Cal pulled
her out of the burning building, and they had jumped to the conclusion that Cal
had been involved in the offense.
Hence the prison cell.
Cal strapped the sword to his side, double checking the
binding of the belt to be sure it wouldn’t fall from his hip as he made his
escape. He slipped out of the cell and silently crept down the long row of
cells toward the half-opened door leading into the small quarters where the
guards slept and ate.
He paused at the door, listening to the soft snores of the
other guard. Wolfric kept two guards on duty at any given time, but the guards
often took turns sleeping, especially during the night shift. As Cal had
expected, the second guard was fast asleep and unaware of the silent mayhem
occurring in his prison. Like the man lying in Cal’s cell, this guard would
likely receive a severe punishment for letting the prisoners get away.
Cal slipped into the dimly lit room and tiptoed toward the
other door, which opened up to a tiny landing at the bottom of a narrow
stairwell. Cal climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time, and emerged into
the dark bailey. There wasn’t a sound from any of the darkened corners. All the
castle’s residents were fast asleep.
The knight set out in the direction of the stables,
determined to get out of the castle as soon as possible. By now every member of
the castle would know that Sir Erin Caldry had been sent to the dungeon and
sentenced to death, along with the princess. Wolfric seemed to think that they were
lovers. In reality, Cal hated Bethany just like he hated all nobility. They
were all the same—out to steal the lands and wealth of those beneath them, to
take the purity of any woman they fancied.
Cal knew. He had experienced it himself as a young lad when
Wolfric’s army rolled through his Domhain home, killing his parents, and
enslaving both him and his sister. If it hadn’t been for the accident that put
it in Cal’s power to save the king, he would still be a slave. Instead, the
king freed him and gave him to a knight as a squire. Cal wasn’t grateful to the
king for freeing him. It didn’t make up for enslaving him in the first place,
and it definitely didn’t make up for turning his sister into a whore.
He had finally tracked his sister down and earned enough
money to buy her freedom, only to discover that she was now the mistress of a
local lord and perfectly content to remain as she was.
Cal ground his teeth together as he crossed the bailey when
his feet stopped on their own accord.
If he left, what would become of the princess?
I don’t care, he
told himself firmly as he forced his feet to move again.
He made it three steps before the disturbing thoughts
returned. Cal knew what was happening to Bethany now. Prince Féderic had come
to the dungeon and taken her away for the night. “To have their wedding night
before she’s beheaded,” he had said to Cal as he had hoisted her limp body to
his shoulder.
How many times had Cal’s sister, Catrina, endure the same
treatment? How many times had her masters forced themselves on her to make her
what she had become?
Whatever the princess’
faults and crimes, she didn’t deserve this treatment. No one did.
Cal swallowed the frustration making its way up from his gut
before turning back to the castle. He may die for the choice he had just made,
but it was better than living a long life with the guilt of leaving a woman
behind to be raped and beheaded. Besides, his escape would be more likely to
succeed if he had a few provisions.
Cal slipped back into the castle, using a narrow door which
led directly to a set of stairs that wound up to the highest levels. He ran up
them as fast as he could, his breath coming in gasps by the time he reached the
top-most level of the castle where his quarters were. He stole down the hallway
and into his room where he scooped up a spare cloak and flung in over his
shoulders before kneeling beside his bed and digging amongst the numerous boxes
and chests. He found the small one he wanted tucked behind a trunk of
seldom-used summer clothing. He pulled the key out from its hiding place and
quickly opened the chest. Mostly he stored documents in this chest, relating to
his search for his sister, but he also kept a small bag of coins tucked under
the papers.
His day-to-day life seldom required money, and, therefore,
most of the wealth he had procured over the last decade or so of being a knight
in the king’s good graces was kept with a banker in the city. He wouldn’t be
able to get it now, but at least this little bag of gold would allow him to
bribe the guards at the gates. He grabbed a few coins from the bag and hid them
in his boot, letting them slide until they rested uncomfortably against his
ankle.
Though he wanted to grab a few other items from his room, he
didn’t know how long the guard would be unconscious. He didn’t have time to
pack up silly memories. He had his chainmail on his back, and his own weapons
were beyond his reach—likely stored in the king’s own chambers—what else did he
actually need?
Cal hurried of his room and raced back to the narrow
stairwell. Though the slaves often used it as the fastest way from one level to
another, it was abandoned at this late hour. He reached the level where the
royal family kept their chambers and entered the corridor. Unlike his own
level, this hallway was brightly lit. It made it easier for the royal family to
have “guests” in the middle of the night.
The knight slipped up to the corner and peered around the
edge, happy to see that Prince Féderic had dismissed his guards; evidently, he
didn’t want any more witnesses than necessary to his indiscretion. Wolfric
would not be happy if he heard his son had taken a prisoner from the dungeon,
whatever the reason.
Cal slipped up to the prince’s door and cringed as he heard
the cries of the princess. In one swift motion, he slipped into the room and
drew his borrowed sword. As he expected, he found Féderic on top of the
princess, oblivious to Cal’s sudden entrance. Cal grabbed the prince by the
hair, pulling him off his victim while his other hand brought the sword down
onto Féderic’s back. The sword, while dull from improper care, opened the
prince’s back until Cal thought he caught a glimpse of bone. Without immediate
care, Féderic would bleed out within minutes.
Cal didn’t feel any remorse.
He glanced up to look at Bethany. The skirting of her dress
was torn and her legs were bare to the world. He quickly pulled his gaze up to
her face, which was red and streaked with rivers of tears that had made tracks
across her temples toward her hair line. Her elaborate braids were mussed and
half torn out. Cal spotted a quiver in her bottom lip and knew she was about to
break.
“Come,” he ordered softly but firmly, hoping movement would
keep her from falling apart. He couldn’t get them to safety if she didn’t hold
it together.
Strangely enough, it had a different effect. The princess
suddenly looked peaceful as she lowered her head onto the feather-down mattress
and sighed. She was giving up, he realized.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded as he grabbed her shoulder
and propelled her off the bed. He saw fresh tears begin to make new streaks
down her cheeks, but he chose not to worry about how she perceived his rough
treatment. He needed to keep them moving. He could apologize and coddle the
princess once they were safe. “We have to run.”
She followed him, but he suspected her mind wasn’t in
control. She moved like someone sleep walking.
At least she’s moving,
he told himself as he poked his head out the door to make sure no one had heard
the clamor.
The hallway was clear.
They scurried toward the slaver’s stairwell, but before they
could make it, Cal glanced back to find Bethany leaning against the wall and
staring at her hand. Her small fingers were covered in blood. It took him a
second to realize where the blood had come from. The blood was the result of
her recent trauma. It would heal with time. Cal pushed his focus to her face.
Her bottom lip was quivering again. He clapped a hand over
her mouth and pressed her against the wall.
“Listen to me, Ann,” her ordered, using the name she had
given when she was slave out of habit. “You are alive. The bleeding has
stopped. Hold it together and we BOTH live.”
Cal was surprised to watch her nod mutely. He hadn’t
expected his admonition to have any effect on her muddled brain. She was still
crying, but she was doing it quietly. Cal took her arm and dragged her toward
the stairwell. Seconds late they arrived in the bailey, near the stables. He
hauled her to the stables and pushed her toward a corner.
“Stay here. If someone finds you, scream. As loud as you
can,” he ordered.
He wasn’t sure if she would be able to handle being left
alone for a few minutes, but it would be safer for her in the dark corner than
in the stables where the workers slept.
He didn’t wait to see how she would respond, but slipped
into the long building. He jogged to Éimhin’s stable, grabbing his saddle and
bridle as he passed.
“Sorry, boy. Wish I had time to groom you,” he whispered to
his horse, who nuzzled him affectionately. Cal saddled his horse in record time
and led him out of the stable to the sound of the worker’s loud snores. On the
way out, Cal grabbed an extra blanket.
Bethany was still hiding in the little corner. When she
emerged, he draped the blanket over her shoulders before hoisting her up to
Éimhin’s back. His war horse was one of the largest he had ever seen. There was
no way she would manage the climb herself. At least, not in her current state.
Cal didn’t have the time or inclination to worry about her
terror; he mounted his steady horse, wrapped an arm around her tense body, and
urged Éimhin forward in the direction of the lesser-used back gate. At the
gate, he spotted the single guard and tossed him the bag of coins.
Just as he expected, it was a guard known for taking bribes.
The man didn’t even look up. Instead he flung open the iron gate, just large
enough for a single horse, and closed it behind them. It was a long, dark
journey to the other side. Wolfric’s castle walls were thick as well as tall.
A few minutes later, they emerged from the tunnel. Cal
kicked his horse into a canter as they crossed the wide swath of land between
the walls and the beginning of the city of Tolad.
As they entered the narrow streets, Cal breathed a sigh of
relief.
They were through the worst.
